


Oh, Haven't You Heard?

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Excessive Monitoring, Flirting, Gossip, M/M, Misunderstandings, Paparazzi, Privacy Invasion, Rumors, Secret Relationship, excessive flirting, implied sex, jaydick-flashfic: rumors and reputations, mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dick is dating someone. Who that someone is, depends on who you ask.





	Oh, Haven't You Heard?

**Author's Note:**

> wow i hello i normally spit out 1700 word shorts but i LOVED this prompt and wanted to be silly. let me know thoughts and opinions + I will almost definitely write something else for this prompt because what. a good. prompt.

“Do not come in here,” Duke said upon slinging open one of the Manor’s double exterior doors. He was scowling, and he kept his hand propped on the opposite door as if to physically bar entry.   
  
“Where’s Alfred?” Dick asked, peering over Duke’s shoulder as if he’d see Alfred hogtied in the entryway. Alfred always answered the door, and he never left Dick stranded in the front yard clutching his motorcycle helmet under his arm. Nor would he have allowed Dick’s bike to remain in the grass to the side of the walkway, although that had more to do with lawn care than hospitality. Dick would have parked himself, but the garages were locked, and Dick didn’t like entering through the Cave on casual visits.   
  
“He’s knee deep in damage control,” Duke hissed. Dick blinked.   
  
“Damage control? Where’s Bruce?” Dick asked.   
  
“Smoking a cigar in the parlor. Reading the paper,” Duke shot back. “All of them. He has three physical papers spread over the ottomans, two tabloid magazines in his lap, and several online articles projected on the television.” Duke huffed a breath. Dick raised his eyebrows.   
  
“He gets like that when he’s wrapped his teeth around something, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him riled,” Dick said. “And I expected something like that, he asked me over and he used my work phone.”   
  
This time, Duke was the one to raise his eyebrows, purse his lips, and cross his arms. “You don’t even know, do you?” He hissed. “Dude, he’s pissed because of you. I’m doing you a favor, just get out of here, man.”   
  
“He’ll just show up at my apartment,” Dick grumbled as he tried to recall anything he’d done recently that may have instigated Bruce. He’d interfered on a drug bust, but they’d already discussed that. “It’s probably nothing.”   
  
“Cigar, dude,” Duke warned him, stepping back so Dick could enter. “I didn’t even know he kept cigars around. I’m warning you, dude, you might want to just lay low in Bludhaven for a couple of days.”   
  
“He’s got entire drawers full of Cuban cigars,” Dick retorted, leaving his helmet on the entryway table. “He gets them as gifts on a semi-frequent basis, and they’re good for some of his undercover personas.”   
  
Duke followed Dick as they navigated the winding hallways to reach a staircase, smaller than the spiral monstrosity in the entry hall. Dick took them two at a time, Duke following close behind, until they were deposited in a carpeted hallway, the end of which led to a sizeable wooden door. The rich scent of fermented tobacco thickened the air, even from where they stood.   
  
“Yeah,” Duke finally said, as they approached the parlor. Dick wrinkled his nose as the smoke slipped onto the back of his tongue, strong enough to clog his throat. “But have you ever known him to smoke them casually?”   
  
Dick raised his fist to the oak door. “Nope,” he admitted before rapping his knuckles against the wood. Duke took that as a cue to book it back the way they came, disappearing without a whisper, in true vigilante style.   
  
It was a wise maneuver. Nearly instantaneously, the door slung open to reveal a deeply displeased Alfred, who looked Dick up and down as if evaluating a stranger. Despite Dick’s bulkier build, Alfred’s disapproving appraisal made him feel unbelievably small.   
  
“Master Grayson,” Alfred clipped. “You have much to explain.”   
  
“I—” Dick began, voice already pitching. But then the deep timber of Bruce’s voice rumbled from behind Alfred.   
  
“Let him in, Alfred,” Bruce said. “He should see this.”   
  
Alfred stepped back and Dick slunk into the room, still unsure of his wrongdoing. Bruce was dressed in slacks and a silky red robe. His legs were crossed and he was indeed nursing a cigar between tight lips from where he filled a high backed, velvet lined throne. The television was off, but a newspaper perched, folded and displaying the front page, on the ottoman before Bruce.   
  
“Run out of cloves?” Dick asked, jerking his chin towards the cigar. He didn’t want to spare a glance down at the tight text on the paper. Bruce, expression flat, drew the cigar from his lips and blew a ring of smoke. Dick scowled.   
  
“B, seriously, cut the theatrics. What did I do? We talked about the bust the other night, I thought we’d decided we were fine.”   
  
Bruce sucked on the cigar and gestured towards the newspaper. Rolling his eyes, Dick strode over and picked up the paper, making a point of shaking it out and making a face at Bruce before reading the headline.   
  
Oh. Dick’s face fell even as he sensed Bruce’s triumphantly pursed lips.   
  
There, in a photo so large it cramped the text, Dick grinned up at a silver fox sporting sunglasses and a wicked smirk. They were standing in a bedroom display at the high-end furniture store Dick visited recently after his own bed frame collapsed unceremoniously. The headline was so salacious it all but accused Dick of being a sugar baby, and the gossip was so thick that Dick was surprised to see it published in the Gotham Gazette.   
  
“I know the city’s been quiet for the past few days, but when did the Gazette become a tabloid?” Dick asked, tutting at the article as if that were enough to disguise the heat creeping up his ears.   
  
“Dick,” Bruce warned pinching his cigar between his thumb and index.   
  
“At least they caught me at a flattering angle,” Dick added, tilting the paper and squinting at the image. “Slade looks pretty good too. Though, I told him to ditch the sunglasses. He’s got a rugged, English pirate kind of look, it suits him. But you’d be surprised how hard it is to get him to take fashion advice. If he could, I think he’d wear cargo pants and muscle shirts every day.”   
  
“Dick!” Bruce finally snapped, jamming his cigar into a nearby ashtray and rising to his feet. He surged towards Dick. Dick rolled up the newspaper and raised it threateningly. Bruce stopped to loom mere inches from Dick. Dick looked up at him and swallowed.   
  
“B— Dad,” Dick murmured softly, placating. “You seem a little unsettled, Leslie said it’s good to talk through our emotions before jumping conclusions. I agree, don’t you agree? We should talk about our emotions more in general, it’s goo--”   
  
“I want,” Bruce ground out, “to talk about why you were shopping for bed frames with Deathstroke.”   
  
Dick’s expression dropped into a scowl, and he tossed the paper back towards the ottoman. He missed. “I wasn’t,” he hissed. “I was shopping for a bed frame for myself, I ran into Slade, we talked, we unwittingly participated in an ethically ambiguous photo shoot, and then we parted ways as two people with unrelated shopping agendas usually do. That’s the long and short of it.”   
  
While Dick spoke, Bruce pursed his lips and straightened his back. When Dick finished, Bruce pulled out a crumpled receipt from his pocket and offered it to Dick. Dick snatched it away and scanned the tiny print.   
  
“The bed you purchased is well out of range for a Bludhaven detective,” Bruce accused. “And our joint account hasn’t been touched. Did Slade buy you a bed?”   
  
“No!” Dick snapped, shaking the receipt. “Did you take this out of my trash? Bruce, what the fuck?”   
  
“What happened to ‘Dad,’” Bruce snorted, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up.   
  
“I should call you a raccoon, you trash-stealing, invasive species,” Dick muttered, crumpling the receipt and shoving it in his jacket pocket. “My bed was old, I needed a new one. Slade was in town because Wintergreen was visiting a friend in hospice. Slade wanted to buy Wintergreen a rug, presumably because he doesn’t know how else to comfort a grieving loved one. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but Slade’s emotionally stunted.” Dick crossed his arms to mirror Bruce. “Wanna swab me for evidence?”   
  
Bruce considered Dick for a spell. Dick waited. Finally, Bruce said, “You need to be careful about the company you keep. People talk, rumors spread, and your reputation is smeared on the front page.”   
  
“Print’s dead,” Dick offered. “Clark’s going to end up working for Vice in the next five years. And you’ve had headlines just as bad.” Dick glanced towards the fallen newspaper and grimaced before his eyes flicked back to Bruce’s. “Almost as bad. So, why the caution now?”   
  
“I think,” Alfred finally interjected, “Master Bruce is prone to worrying about yourself and your siblings, and he wants nothing but respect and privacy for you. Is my observation well founded, sir?”   
  
Bruce grunted.   
  
“Good,” Alfred affirmed. “I believe tea is in order, as is an open window. Cleaning smoke from drapes can be a harrowing inconvenience,” he added, casting a sharp glance at Bruce before leaving the room in that brisk stride of his.   
  
“Rumors are inevitable, B,” Dick murmured, picking up the paper only to dump it back onto the ottoman on his way to open a window. “It comes with the playboy persona territory. We good?” He slung the windows open and looked over at Bruce as fresh air teased and tossed Dick’s hair.   
  
Bruce tilted his head.   
  
“What happened to your bed frame again?” He asked. Dick winked and flashed a lecherous grin.   
  
“Wear and tear. Maybe I shouldn’t call it a persona.”   
  
Bruce frowned. “You’re a serial monogamist,” he accused. “You can’t lie to me, Dick, I taught you how. You’re involved with someone. Someone with money.”   
  
Dick shrugged. “I hate to leave you chewing on that, but I’ve gotta hit the road. I promised M I’d show for some family-friendly fisticuffs, and if I don’t get there early, he’ll snatch me through a Door instead.” Dick hiked a leg on the window sill. “See you later, B,” Dick offered before launching himself from the window ledge to the ancient oak outside. Bruce wandered over to the window and watched Dick sling himself from the tree into two front flips only to be yanked through a swirling, orange portal as soon as he’d landed from his leap.   
  
Bruce grunted.

* * *

Clark had heard Dick’s quip about print media. He shouldn’t have, and if Bruce knew he’d be furious. But Clark checked in on most of his loved ones throughout the day and if he was especially attentive to Dick after the article Clark read in that morning’s Gotham Gazette, then how could Bruce fault him?

  
“Did you overhear something you shouldn’t have?” Lois murmured lowly, perching herself on the corner of his desk. She happened to plant her ass directly on Clark’s splayed copy of the Gazette, and judging by her smirk it was intentional. Clark scowled.   
  
“Have you read it? It seemed... problematic. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.” He batted his eyes up at her and she snorted.   
  
“Of course I read it, everyone on the Northeastern coast has read it. It’s not your problem, and it’s not the first Wayne scandal. Take a breath, Smallville, this isn’t an emergency.”   
  
Clark lowered his glasses to adequately catch her attention. “The older man in the photo is Slade Wilson.”   
  
Lois blinked. She blinked again, and then, even though the bustle and noise of the office protected the confidentiality of their conversation, whispered, “Internationally wanted Slade Wilson? Like, Deathstroke Slade Wilson? Knock off 80s action thriller Slade Wilson?”   
  
Clark nodded gravely.   
  
Lois’s mouth parted, but it only took a moment for her to regain her composure again. Satisfied, Clark replaced his glasses and pushed them up his nose.   
  
“Yeah, okay,” Lois conceded, waving her hand at him flippantly. “Take a long lunch when you finish up whatever you’re working on. I’ll cover you with Perry.” Clark grinned at her, but she cupped her own jaw and added, “Oh, and Kent?”   
  
Clark scowled. She only ever called him Kent when she wanted something nowadays. More specifically, when she wanted a byline.   
  
“Yes?” Clark sighed.   
  
“See if Grayson can’t get me a one-on-one with one of the world’s deadliest assassins, yeah?”   
  
Clark’s face pinched and Lois raised her eyebrows. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Clark shook his head and tossed his wrists helplessly.  
  
“Something on your mind? Come on, Kent, share with the class,” She prodded. Clark planted his elbow on his desk and propped his head on his hand.   
  
“That sounds like a Vice article,” he accused.   
  
She quirked her lips into a smile. Clark found himself briefly distracted by how velvety her lipstick looked. He wanted to kiss her, but he might have to secure her the interview before she’d let him.

“Yeah, and? It sounds like a book deal to me. I could even get Deadshot, maybe Lady Shiva, and make it into a podcast,” Lois said, gesturing into the air. She froze and frowned. “Maybe not Lady Shiva, at least not without Dinah in the room with me. And while I have Dinah protecting me, I would love to ask Cheshire about the difficulties of family-work balance when you’re an assassin.”  
  
Clark let his head drop to his desk, wincing at the crack of wood on impact. “I hate Vice,” Clark whined. “And podcasts. This is all terrible, and I hate you.” Lois laughed her way back to her desk.   
  
Despite his misgivings about Dick’s Vice accusations, Clark did slip out a few hours later to find and check in on him. It took longer than Clark anticipated, well over a lunch hour, and Clark made a mental note to bother Bruce into buying that typewriter purportedly used by Nellie Bly that Lois had found and fallen in love with while covering an estate auction.   
  
Eventually, Clark did find Dick, leaving the residence of a known magic user, Extrano, which would explain Clark’s struggle in pinpointing his location. He wasn’t alone either; a bulky, terribly tall man dressed in a black duster and cowl was draped over Dick’s shoulder laughing while Dick rolled his eyes. There was some sort of emblem on the Man’s chest armor. Clark narrowed his eyes and listened in.   
  
“— roleplay? You never had any issue with it before,” The Man in Black said. Clark’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.   
  
“I don’t know why Extrano puts up with you,” Dick chided, tilting his head so that the Man in Black could more comfortably settle his chin amid Dick’s hair. He wrapped his arms around Dick for good measure, and Dick stopped attempting to walk, except to pull the Man under a nearby tree so that they weren’t loitering conspicuously in Extrano’s front lawn. Clark hovered, lest he needed to intervene.

“Why do you say that?” The Man in Black asked. Clark scanned him, and frowned when he saw two hearts beneath the Man’s skin in addition to what appeared to be… a lot of tech. Of what origin, Clark wasn’t sure. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Because you’re so ex-tra,” Dick taunted with a grin. The Man in Black humored him with a snort.

“Stick to looking pretty, Grayson, your comedy isn’t great.”

Clark clumsily pulled out the private, in-ear communicator Bruce gave him ages before and shoved it in his ear.

“Bruce?” he hissed, despite the fact he was hovering upwards of 100 ft above his subjects. Nevertheless, he swore he saw the Man in Black cock his head curiously.

“No legal names on insecure lines,” Bruce snapped back. Clark huffed.

“I thought that was the point of this earpiece? Security?” Clark grumbled. Beneath him, the Man in Black had pressed his lips against Dick’s temple and was murmuring something salacious. Clark blushed and tuned out the Man to focus on his conversation with Bruce.

“No line is secure enough for casual conversation between a billionaire and a reporter. You’re a poison for entrepreneurial industry,” Bruce chatted, voice measured. Clark narrowed his eyes.

“You’re trying to get me off the line,” Clark accused. Bruce grew silent, so Clark continued, “I just needed to know if you recognized a metahuman… cyborg, I guess, with two hearts, a black cowl, a black duster, and chest armor featuring a--”

“A crescent moon?” Bruce asked. Clark jerked back.

“Yes,” Clark said, a touch louder than he intended. He lowered his voice again to add, “Nightwing is with him and I… overheard. Some of their conversation. It was very ungentlemanly, have you spoken to Nightwing about safe sex?”

“Clark!” Bruce barked. Clark smirked.

“Insecure line,” Clark taunted. He heard the sigh across the line, but he also heard Dick laugh below. Clark glanced down to see that the Man in Black had unstuck himself from Dick’s back, although they weren’t moving from the location. Which was unsettling.

“The meta is Midnighter, a biotechnical experiment created by a Henry Bendix, although I haven’t yet verified that name. Midnighter has no legitimate alias, although he occasionally calls himself Lucas Trent. He has a Driver's’ License, and a dodgy teenage daughter with a smoking habit, but no social security card. Nightwing grew close with him through various collaborations during his time as Agent 37, but he refuses to divulge the details of those experiences. Spoiler, on the other hand, was more than willing to describe the… assistance he lent the children in my absence. Midnighter is violent, compulsive, and sadistic if with moral accompaniments.”

“Oh,” Clark said. “I feel like there’s an ‘and’ somewhere.”

“And,” Bruce muttered reluctantly, “he apparently may be dating my son, if you’re hearing correctly.”

Clark made a guttural noise.

“Dick indicated he was seeing someone,” Bruce explained, “I’ve been reviewing security footage from his apartment building, but I haven’t identified the susp-- suitor. Yet. I still have four weeks of audio recordings I’ve allowed to pile up.”

“Audio?” Clark asked.

“From the transmitters I put in his apartment when he first moved in,” Bruce clarified with a scoff as if that would have been obvious.

Beneath Clark, a cream swirled, tangerine-colored portal appeared and Dick and Midnighter disappeared through it. Clark caught a look at his wristwatch and groaned.

“Could you get Lois an interview with Lady Shiva?” Clark asked, voice pitched.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Bruce cut the line and returned back to the file he’d opened while speaking with Clark. Midnighter’s file was still scarce, but he’d need to address the inadequacy if what Clark reported was in fact related to Dick’s evasive behavior earlier. Dick did tend to flirt, there was still a chance the relationship was casual. Bruce would _not_ be inviting Midnighter to dinner.

The soft _swish_ of enforced fabric caught Bruce’s attention.

“Come out, Tim. I can hear you,” Bruce murmured, squinting closely at the screen even as the blue light splashing across his face spurred on a headache. Or maybe the headache was the result of his son dating a serial murderer whose crime scenes were signed by shredded bodies and mutilated innards.

Around the corner of a naturally formed pillar, Tim appeared. He shuffled his feet, sighed, leaned his head back, and then straightened himself to blurt, “So Dick’s dating Midnighter, right? The one he convinced to single-handedly dispatch a slew of Mother’s Orphans?”

Bruce shot Tim a warning glance. “I don’t think Midnighter needed convincing,” he rumbled, turning back to the Batcomputer’s monitor, which displayed the results of a train-related incident handled by the individual under question. “He’s a violent sadist. We’ll need to involve ourselves.”

Tim choked. “So they _are_ dating.”

Bruce grunted. “Clark seems to think so, and I trust his observations. At least, I trust the subjectivity of his enhanced senses.”

“High praise from a skeptic,” Tim offered, striding over to skim the file. “I’ll help fill this out... if you tell me _everything_ Clark saw. For, you know, the data.”

With an arched brow, Bruce flicked his gaze to Tim. Tim, who just shrugged.

“And because I like to be in the know,” Tim admitted. “I won’t tell the others, I swear. Purely scientific intrigue.”

In any other circumstance, Bruce wouldn’t humor the request. But it wouldn’t be long before Alfred descended the elevator to call Bruce to above-ground duties, and so he accepted Tim’s offer to edit the file, and consequently, he satisfied Tim’s curiosity.

After their debrief, and as soon as Bruce left to attend his late afternoon board meeting, Tim called Jason, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he typed his recollection of Midnighter. Jason picked up nearly immediately.

 _“What?”_ Jason grumbled.  

“Dude, so Dick and Midnighter are definitely, like, doing it.”

When the line fell silent, Tim smirked.

 _“You don’t say?_ ” Jason finally murmured. “ _Go on._ ”

* * *

 

When Midnighter dropped Dick by his apartment, he was still laughing.

“You could enjoy this less,” Dick accused. “Clark’s a… a close family friend, and I don’t want to feed any of the rumors already going around. You only said that shit so he would hear you, so you owe me when this inevitably blows up in my face.”

Midnighter pulled Dick close, which Dick thought was sweet until M slipped him into a headlock so that he could muss up Dick’s perfectly styled hair with his spare fist.

“M!” Dick shouted, flailing his limbs as if that could possibly be effective against 165 lbs of augmented meta. Midnighter obligingly released Dick, who would have fallen from the force of his struggling if not for M grabbing the collar of shirt and pulling him upright so that they stood chest to… sort of chest, M was _really tall._

“The Kryptonian is like a father to you, you can say it. It’s okay to drop the mother hen facade every so often. Last I checked, you weren’t Atlas and you don’t have a brood of your own,” M murmured, voice soft, hand releasing Dick’s collar to smooth out the fabric he’d wrinkled by rubbing Dick’s upper back. And then M dug his fingers into Dick’s flesh, and Dick realized he was offering a massage. Dick slumped forward into M’s chest armor despite himself. Maybe Dick had a thing for chest armor. Maybe it wasn’t his fault.

For a moment, they stood like that: M supporting Dick’s weight and rubbing Dick’s back while Dick let himself slip into a warm lull.

But then, unable to help himself—

“Besides, you’d make a terrible Daddy,” M added cheekily. “You’re too much of a twunk.”

“Ugh,” Dick grumbled, lethargic. “I hate you. I was just beginning not to, but I hate you again,” He didn’t move from where he’d nestled, though.

“You’ve got a stick up your ass, Grayson. You should try yoga. Take a class, those bored housewives would love you.” M hummed. “The instructor might hate you, until they see your Half Lotus Crow. No one with flowing blood could hate you in Half Lotus Crow.”

Dick snorted and craned his neck to look up at the underside Midnighter’s jaw. Jesus, he was tall. “And here I thought you loved me for my Crane pose?” But then guilt rolled over him in a wave, and Dick pushed away from M, whose arms fell away easily enough.

“This looks bad,” Dick insisted. “Bruce thinks I’m fucking Slade, and then Clark was watching us and you heard him, he thinks you and I—”

“We’re both taken men,” Midnighter chided him, crossing his arms. “But romantic intimacy cannot be the only intimacy you receive. Apollo knows that, and your partner either knows or needs to learn.”

“No, no, he knows,” Dick assured him. “It took him a bit, but he knows.”

“Good. That’s all that matters; if the rest want to talk, let ‘em,” M said, running his fingers through Dick’s hair one more time as if hell-bent on removing what was left of Dick’s hair wax. “Thanks for helping today, but, speaking of which, I need to go see my husband. Apparently, Jenny is smoking again. This is what we get for trying to raise a reincarnating century baby with an inherited attitude.” M called a door and disappeared with a two finger salute to Dick.

After M was good and gone, Dick popped the Dramamine that he kept specifically for M’s Door, texted Donna about hitting up a yoga class with him, and then passed out on his couch.

* * *

Donna received the text while at the Titans gym in Manhattan, wrapping up a kickboxing session with Kori, Roy, and Artemis, the latter having become a more fixed presence in their lives since her involvement with the Outlaws.

The three women had recommended Roy come around on another day, and with other, non-augmented humans, but he’d insisted, and now he was prone on the mat, groaning and blinking up at the high ceiling.

“You’re all terrifying,” Roy accused. “Horrible, terrifying women.”

“No, but one of us is a solar-powered alien and the other two are Amazons of Themyscira,” Donna singsonged. “And we warned you.”

“I did not,” Kori chirped from where she lounged several feet above the ground, back facing the ground and her ponytail pouring down to give the appearance of molten lava rather than its usual licking flames. It’s how Donna could tell Kori’d been adequately challenged, Kori didn’t sweat so much as she overheated. “It is good for one to challenge oneself. Limitations are but thresholds.”

Roy sat up. “Hey, Princess, can you come grab my thighs? Not, like, as a sex thing, I just don’t have a heat compress on me and I think I’ve lost use my legs.”

“Of course.” With the fluidity of water, Kori rolled over before tucking her legs underneath her and succumbing to the pull of gravity. She touched down onto the mat, rolled her shoulders to straighten her posture, and then practically glided to Roy. He gleefully wrapped himself around her leg while she giggled.

Artemis cocked her head at Donna, and Donna assured her that Kori generally didn’t mind a select few appreciating her as a space heater and that if it weren’t fine then Roy would have already been set aflame.

Donna spoke as she unwrapped her hands and patted herself dry with a hand towel. Then she picked up her phone and trailed off.

“I have five missed calls and three texts from Cassie,” she breathed, unlocking her phone and scrolling through the texts. She saw where Dick pitched yoga which, sure, but then she read through Cassie’s messages.

“Huh. Hey, Kori, did you know Dick is dating someone?” Donna called over his shoulder. “Because Cassie says that he’s dating someone named Murder Batman? That can’t be right.”

Kori looked up from where she was bent and stroking Roy’s back. “That is another name for his friend, The Midnighter. But no, they cannot be dating, as The Midnighter is married and Dick would have told me.” She returned her attention to Roy and patted his back. “You have grown tense, I cannot help if you will not relax.”

“I was under the impression he was involved with that mercenary,” Artemis said with a hand on her hip and a curled lip revealing exactly how she felt about that. “Their coupling is plastered on the newspapers I’ve seen today.”

Kori, tiring of Roy’s antics, detangled herself from him to join the other two women. “No, Damian told me that he’d overhead Dick and Batman discussing that story. He said that Dick had several partners lately, per Dick’s own words. I do not believe this to be true, but Damian believes it, and it is the only information I have been granted on the subject. Dick will often introduce me to his lovers when he is ready, and so I do not believe we should fret.”

With a snort, Donna texted Barbara, asking after Dick’s most recent dalliance. “I’m not fretting, Kori, but I’m also not waiting on Dick to tell me what’s up. He had his chance.”  

Barbara responded immediately.

_I KNEW Helena was too giddy for her aesthetic. I promised her I’d stop planting audio transmitters without her consent, so I don’t know what’s up, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time._

“Huntress,” Donna announced, “it’s totally Huntress, Oracle confirmed, and Oracle knows anything worth knowing in that town..”

“Oh, shit,” Roy whistled from where he still sat. “I don’t know how much I believe that, I have my own theory, but Huntress would fit Dick’s MO. And he’d definitely want to keep it from the big, bad Bat. Bruce can’t ever decide if he wants to adopt her or evict her from the city.”

Artemis crossed her arms and tossed her head back. “It is inane to think a singular man can evict anyone from a city. He’s tried it before with Jason. He failed.”

Roy lit up and scrambled to his feet. “Oh, good call, I’m totally going to tell Jaybird. He loves having ammunition over Dick.” Roy joined Donna at the bench to dig out his own cell phone.

Donna raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, “And that’s a good thing? Should you be encouraging their bickering?”

Roy paused in typing out the text. “It’s sure as fuck funny.”

* * *

 

Dick woke slowly, squinting up at the shadow that loomed over the couch. Then Dick’s eyes fluttered closed again, and a soft smile crossed his relaxing face.

“Hey, little wing,” he murmured. “I’m napping, you should join me.” Dick patted the cushion beside him.

Jason reached over and brushed Dick’s bangs back, running his fingers through the soft, dark locks. He scratched Dick’s scalp, just to watch Dick’s lips part in contentment.

“You’re the talk of the town,” Jason murmured, uncurling his fingers and drifting his hand down to cup Dick’s face. His face pinched ever so slightly. “Anything you’ve got to say for yourself?”

Dick opened his eyes and nuzzled Jason’s hand. “You’ve got a sour look, like you don’t know where we stand.” He glanced at Jason through his lashes. “I’m going to have to bite your tongue with accusations like that.”

“Slade?” Jason asked. Dick let out a soft scoff, adjusting and sitting up so that he could tug at Jason’s shoulder. He patted the couch cushion to demonstrate his original request again. Jason didn’t budge, so Dick gave up and stretched out, arching his back to encourage his shirt to ride up over his stomach.

“I texted you in the furniture store,” Dick offered. “Where I wouldn’t have been if we hadn’t cracked my bed frame. Rose was there too, I sent you a Snapchat.”

“Yeah. She looks good,” Jason offered, fingers trailing down from Dick’s jaw to thumb at the exposed skin of his stomach. “I should call her sometime.”

Dick made a face. “Careful, baby, she’s one of my _babies_ ,” Dick chided. “I don’t want to think about you two dating.” Dick stretched his arms behind his head and yawned.

“What about all I’ve had to hear about you and Midnighter?” Jason shot back, thumb pausing and voice sharp. Dick froze and then softened his gaze, drawing his arms back to tuck behind his head.

“I haven’t ever slept with M, Jay. He’s a flirt, but he loves Apollo,” Dick assured him, undulating his lower stomach to encourage Jason to return to his light touches. Instead, Jason yanked back his hand.

“It’s fucking weird you can do that, Goldie,” Jason warned. Dick pulled his shirt up over the rest of his stomach and rippled into a full belly roll without lifting his back from the couch.

“It’s the basics of belly dancing,” Dick insisted. “Learning to control the abdominal muscles in separation from one another is literally the first thing they teach you.”

“You learn that in the circus?” Jason snorted, dragging his knuckles from Dick’s newly exposed sternum, down to his navel. He spread his hand out and rested it there.

“No, Donna and I took a class,” Dick murmured, eyes half-lidded as Jason drew his face close. Jason paused.

“Donna thinks you’re sleeping with Huntress,” Jason murmured so close that his breath ghosted Dick’s lips. Dick cocked his eyebrows.

“Oh. Well. We’re not. Haven’t in a while,” Dick assured him. But then Jason cleared the space between them and gently kissed Dick.

Dick slid a hand to cup the back of Jason’s neck, but Jason pulled away to add, “I know. I like Huntress, and we talk. She’s chasing the Question, last I heard.”

“Speaking of questions, I have one for you,” Dick chided, dropping his hand to sit up as much as he could with Jason still so close, “why are you listening to rumors?”

Jason scowled.

“You’ve got a _modus operandi_ ,” Jason protested. Dick reared his head back, his eyebrows shooting up. Jason refused to be chagrined, “I’ve known you since I was 15, I know you.”

Dick snorted. “Yeah, okay, I’m predictable. I’m predictable in that I’m a serial monogamist with a preference for bad reputations and upper body strength.” Dick glanced at Jason’s bicep and squeezed it affectionately. “This one’s named Nathaniel.”

“Dick,” Jason warned, and so Dick patted the arm and returned his attention to Jason.

“People talk, Jason,” Dick murmured, settling back down on the couch, withdrawing his own touch, but relishing the hand Jason kept on his stomach. “Our friends are gossips. And it’s fun to gossip about petty shit when the alternative dramas we experience all tend to be... apocalyptic. But, I’m all in. You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

Jason abruptly pulled away and chewed his lip. He hesitated, and then he tumbled out, “It’s not just-- it is, but.” He groaned and glared up at the ceiling, “But I'm pissed that with all of these rumors, none are about me! You. With me. As if it’s too fucking hard for them to believe.” Jason scrubbed his face until Dick sat up and pulled his wrists away.

“It’s not hard to believe, you’re just clever and discrete,” Dick assured him, kissing up his jaw. When Dick’s lips brushed the shell of Jason’s ear, he whispered, “You want ‘em to talk? I can make them talk.”

Jason cocked his head, but before he could ask further, Dick caught him in a kiss and drug Jason down by his lapels. After that, Jason lost interest in the conversation as the evening progressed and Dick showed Jason what else he learned in that class he took with Donna.

The next morning, when Jason tried to ask after they’d both prepared for the day, Dick kissed him, pulling Jason’s hand around his waist and wrinkling his own white v-neck by grinding his torso against Jason with an intensity that belied the gentleness of the kiss.

“Muss up my hair, will you?” Dick asked, handing Jason a bottle of his pomade, pulled from the back pocket of his skinny jeans. Skinny jeans that were oddly tight, for Dick’s usual. “Really fuck it up, you know? Just tug on it.”

“You don’t like your hair pulled,” Jason mused, even as he obligingly scooped some pomade and began working the tacky wax into Dick’s hair, artfully styling it into what he considered a believably tousled look. Dick beamed.

“No, but I do like it when you kiss my neck,” he offered, tilting his head to the side to bare his throat. Jason quirked his eyebrows but pecked the skin below Dick’s ear. Until Dick whined and tugged at Jason’s shirt, prompting Jason to nip and suck low enough that Dick’s Nightwing uniform would cover it, along with most collared shirts.

“Mm, thanks, babe,” Dick chirped, pulling away to wink at Jason before snagging Jason’s leather jacket from the back of a chair.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, mentally cataloging the jacket to remember to ask for it back. He had others, but there was a finite amount and Dick was prone to losing them. “You’re acting off.”

Dick snorted and then snagged a banana from the counter before he strode towards the door. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you later today.”  

“You may want to change!” Jason shouted after him, gesturing loosely to his neck.

“I’m good, I’ve got your jacket!” Dick called back, slinging the jacket over his untucked, slouching t-shirt, while still somehow exposing his reddened throat. “Love you!” And then, the door shut.

Jason stood in their kitchen, holding an open bottle of pomade, eyebrows cocked.

He didn’t figure out what caused the sudden shift in Dick’s behavior until nearly noon, when Tim called him, nearly breathless, “ _Are you and Dick a_ thing _? Like a thing, thing? Why wouldn’t either of you tell me?_ ” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, dork, use your grown-up words,” Jason murmured, unlocking his work phone to reach out to Artemis only to see about fifteen other text messages from various members of the vigilante community. All regarding Dick.

“ _Dude, TMZ’s darling is walking around in your jacket, with your aviators, with a bite on his neck and… whatever’s happening with his hair. The tabloids are calling it “sex hair,” but I’m clearly more dignified than that._ ”

“Clearly,” Jason murmured, dragging his laptop from the coffee table and opening it up. He didn’t have to go to TMZ to see the heir of one of the wealthiest men in the world plastered on the front page of his browser’s entertainment section. Jason whistled.

Dick was a sight, smirking at the camera, latte in hand. His head was cocked as if in arrogance, but Jason could see that the angle was intended to showcase the bruise Jason left that morning. More damning than any of that, the photo was published beside a blurry shot of Red Hood. Blurry, but clear enough to see the similarities between the jacket Dick sported and Red Hood’s staple.

The headline read, “ _Is Dick Grayson-Wayne Really Dating The Red Hood?_ ”

“Huh. Would you look at that,” Jason murmured, cupping his grin as if there were any reason to hide it. “Sorry, Tim, gotta let you go. I’ll see you when I see you,” Jason said, ending the call to the tune of Tim’s indignant squawks. Jason ignored the texts flooding his phone, and instead dialed a number from memory.

The phone rang three times before Dick answered, “Hey, babe,” Dick cooed. Jason could hear the flash of cameras in the background. Dick would regret this gambit in an hour or two when he wouldn’t even be able to use the restroom without an entourage. 

“Hey,” Jason murmured, laying back and propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, I heard a rumor….”


End file.
